Happier
by skiesarecrying
Summary: Love was something Hermione thought she understood. It made sense; Ron made sense. But love was impulsive; it came and went as it pleased. And now, Hermione hated it. She is left with one question: What is the difference between love and happiness?


Title: Happier

Author: skiesarecrying

Rating: M? Just in case.

Pairing: Dramione, ftw.

Setting: Five years after the war. Hermione and Ron live together but aren't engaged or married.

Full Summary: Love was something Hermione thought she understood. It made sense; Ron made sense. But love was impulsive; it came and went as it pleased. And now, Hermione hated it. Five years after Voldemort's defeat, the Ministry is attacked by an unknown force, and Hermione has to relearn everything she ever knew about love. She is left with one question: What is the difference between love and happiness?

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything that is canon. JK Rowling is the shit, k? K.

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><p>"Ronald, have you seen my red bag? I need it."<p>

Silence.

"Ron?" Hermione came into the kitchen, her hands wrapped up in her light brown hair, tugging it into a ponytail, only to see Ron on his knees, dusting away the last of a shattered teacup. She smirked and shook her head, falling to her knees before him. Ron's blue eyes looked up at her. They had been living together for less than two months, and Ron had already broken five of Hermione's teacups.

"If I get anymore bloody clumsy, I swear, I'll –"

"Its fine, Ron. It was an accident," she answered quickly, giving his cheek a pat and smiled up at him. He smiled back and pecked her on the lips sweetly before she took out her wand and quickly disposed the rest of the shards. "I'm heading out to work, alright? When do you leave? Eight? Oh, I've forgotten." Hermione continued to mutter to herself. Ron smiled at her and leaned against the kitchen counter, the rumbles in his stomach that had bothered him only moments go suddenly not bothering him.

"Eight-thirty, actually. Calm down, Hermione," Ron said soothingly, rubbing his girlfriend's arm affectionately. She smiled at him and kissed him tenderly, giving him a moment to kiss her back. Feeling Ron there was one thing that had always calmed her down when she was wound up, though there were few people she told. And it was always so funny to her. She made herself laugh. It was Ron. Always Ron. It was him that made her tense, made her cry, made her anxious. He was the reason for her everything, and when they were young, that had scared her because she felt her happiness depended on him. Somehow, it still did, but in a different sort of way. There were few things Hermione could not explain, and this was one of them.

"I'm leaving now. Um, if you have any problems just send Harry and Ginny an owl? Or my mum, or yours," Hermione said quietly, her face still mere inches from Ron's face. He nodded. When Hermione had first shared with him that she was going off to France for work with the Minister of Magic, there was no doubt that he was, indeed, quite nervous. He was beyond nervous, actually. Hermione was more than aware of this, hence why she advised him to call on someone if he needed help. Though he had definitely matured since their years at Hogwarts, he still fumbled every once in a while and never forgot to get at least one good whine about something in each and every day. Whether it was a spider or the amount of dishes or the heat or the cold, he whined. Hermione would scold him in her usual shrill tone, or just smile and shake her head and tend to him. It honestly depended on her mood, which he had the talent of changing it quite easily, whether it was from horrible to amazing or vice versa. He affected her in ways no one could.

"I'll be fine, Hermione. Honestly," Ron said quietly, running a finger through his girlfriend's bangs slowly. Hermione smirked and she looked down at the ground, bringing her head with her. "Sorry. Hair. Right. You're so beautiful."

Giggling, Hermione grabbed the bag she had been looking for. "Here it is. So, bye," she said quietly, looking Ron in the eyes again. From a young age, Hermione had loved Ron's eyes. When he was acting childish or reckless or just plain stupid, she could look into his eyes and she knew he was still there. And she laughed at herself for it. Of course he was still there. He was alive and breathing after everything, but she knew he was still there, still in love with her, just as much or more than he had during the war. Hermione smiled one last time at Ron and gave him a quick kiss, then made her way through the kitchen to the living room where the fireplace sat. Grabbing a handful of floo powder, Hermione stepped into the fireplace.

And, of course, moments later she was walking amongst the crowd in the Ministry of Magic. Keeping a steady stride, Hermione nodded to a few coworkers here and there, as well as a few strangers who seemed to know who she was. That was one odd thing about life after the war; if you knew Harry, you were instantly famous. At first it had been quite flattering. Hermione would blush and wave as parents told their children she helped save them. It was five years ago. Fame was never something Hermione wanted; she had had to witness what it had done to Harry, and how he loathed it. It was not desirable to her in the least.

"Miss Granger," an old man in a navy top hat bowed. She smiled down at him and continued on her way to the fountain in the middle of the atrium where she knew Kingsley would be waiting for her, accompanied by a few other Ministry officials in her department. As they came into view, Hermione's pace hastened and she smiled up at Kingsley.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. We almost thought we had lost you," he said, a wide grin spreading across his charming face. Hermione blushed and shook her head quickly as she reached out to shake his hand.

"No. So sorry, Kingsley. There was an incident with Ron, I – "

"I didn't expect an excuse. All is well." Hermione smiled again as he shook her hand and she turned quickly to her coworkers.

"Good morning, Glenda. Herbert. Richard, how is your son? I heard he was found a few miles away from your home last week?" Hermione asked as the group of them moved towards the fireplaces. Richard was a middle-aged man with dark, ash coloured hair and a sunken face. At one point there had been rumours of his family being involved with the likes of dark wizards, but that rumour had proven to be quite false. Of course, this didn't shake the fact that when Richard's nineteen year old son was found beaten and bruised a few miles from his home, people started questioning his son. Hermione wasn't one of them, though curiosity struck her, especially at this particular moment.

"He's alright. Shaken, at the least. His mother's at home tending to him at the moment. She can't leave his side," Richard said, running a frail hand through his thin hair. Hermione smiled and patted his arm.

It was true. Lately rumours had been flying around about dark wizards and witches gathering again. Hermione had pressed Harry on the subject enough to make him snap; he knew nothing. They were amateurs, as far as Harry knew, probably a bunch of kids that had finished at Hogwarts the summer before and wanted to end it with a bang. Literally. There had been a handful of break ins here and there, but not enough to assume it was done by dark wizards. Death Eaters were pretty much banned from society. Of course, that didn't stop some people from disliking Muggles or Muggleborns, but Hermione knew everyone was entitled to their own opinions so she didn't care as long as they didn't go about hurting people because of it.

"It's a real shame, you know. You'd think people would learn that – what the bloody - ?" Glenda began, but she was cut off rather suddenly but a shrill noise. The atrium froze and everyone turned to where the noise had come from. There was a green spark, flying ever so slowly towards the fountain in the middle of the atrium. Hermione frowned. It seemed like a prank, but she could see Kingsley's body tense up. Something was wrong.

As the spark made its way towards the fountain, Hermione scanned the crowd. She recognized few faces as people she knew. No one looked outwardly suspicious. She almost expected George and Fred – bless his soul – to jump out from behind someone, laughing and run off into the distance. But there was no one. Hermione sighed and crossed her arms, and was about to say something to Kingsley when she saw him. The other side, his back pressed against the wall. Hermione felt her heart jump and rage burn in her throat. There had been only a handful – or, sorry, a fistful – of times she had seen Draco Malfoy since the war. He was watching the spark as well, and then his eyes drifted to hers in a familiar fashion, as if he had been doing without her knowledge for the past few minutes. Her chest swelled and her breath hitched in her throat. One of his eyebrows rose and he nodded in the direction of the strange green spark. It had stopped and had begun to grow. Kingsley took a step forward and a few people began shuffling away from it.

Ron. All Hermione could think of was Ron. He would be leaving the house now, unaware of what was happening. The spark was now the size of a football, and slowly but surely, Hermione saw the snake-like tongue emerge. His sign. Hermione held out her wand, as did every other person in the atrium. Someone yelled his name – Voldemort. Another lady screamed. Hermione looked around. Where was Harry? He would know what was happening.

Before anyone could defend themselves, it exploded. Green flames shot everywhere in every direction. Hermione dropped to her knees so hard her forehead hit the floor and the immediate sticky feeling of blood and sweat enveloped her. So painfully familiar. The sound of the screaming and the shoving seized her memory. She felt blind, except for the brief moment when she saw the blur of Kingsley's indigo robes run past her. Then, nothing. Everything went black.

"Granger?"

Nothing. Another prod.

"Granger? Please be alive."

There was movement beyond the eyelids. He could see that much. Finally, he could see the whites of her eyes peeking through, and Hermione could see blue. Blue eyes. Ron's eyes.

"Ron?"

There was sound, but not much; footsteps on something crunchy and a low mumble that sounded angry. Then, nothing. Hermione turned her head to the side and felt her body tense up in pain. She squeezed her eyes. Shots of light blinded her. Was she being operated on? No. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was seeing natural light. It was the sun, and she was lying in a bed of leaves. And it wasn't Ron she was with. Twenty feet away stood Draco Malfoy, watching her, blood on his hands, and the faintest look of tears in his eyes. He was shaking, and glaring at her. Well, that certainly wasn't surprising, and it comforted her to see something that wasn't. She blinked and watching him fall down to sit at the base of a large tree, still watching her.

Speech was not relevant to Hermione. Her lips trembled. What had happened? Was she attacked? A jagged breath escaped her lips and she held her eyes on Draco. Despite the questions and the anger and the fear, only one word made sense to her.

"_You_," was all Hermione could say. It was all that made sense.


End file.
